


His Son

by LadySilv



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Angst, Dad Sheriff Thompsom, Drabble, Dream SMP - Tales of the SMP, Dream Smp, Fluff and Angst, John John is Ranbutler, Minecraft, Tales Of The SMP, The Wild West, Time Travel, ranbutler - Freeform, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:54:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilv/pseuds/LadySilv
Summary: The paper was old and torn at the corners. Painted in the center was a pig hybrid and the words: “Wanted Dead or Alive.” The pig hybrid wore rather fancy clothes with a masquerade mask colored black and gold. Written in a fine text at the bottom of the page was a description of the crime. “Wanted for the kidnapping of [REDACTED] the orphan.”--or Sheriff Thompson is oblivious to the fact that his kid is the bartender--If CCs find this and want it removed, it will be.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Ranboo & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 298





	1. His Son

The night fell upon a desolate town of despair. The scorched earth cooled as the sun set and pink clouds turned dark blue against the moonlight. Dried weeds bundled into a ball and tumbled to and fro, lifting up sand as it did only to be stopped as it hit a large cactus. The wind changed directions, forcing the weed past the cactus before tumbling it away into another direction. Tumbling across the sand, the weed made its way onto a sand covered path before stopping at a saloon that bustled with energy. The wind deposited the weed at its destination before picking up a new odd traveler. A wanted sign.

The paper was old and torn at the corners. Painted in the center was a pig hybrid and the words: “Wanted Dead or Alive.” The pig hybrid wore rather fancy clothes with a masquerade mask colored black and gold. Written in a fine text at the bottom of the page was a description of the crime. “Wanted for the kidnapping of [REDACTED] the orphan.”

The sign flew through the wind, flipping and dancing with the wind. The paper hit the side of the windows into a certain church, a church of Prime. Inside the church were a few devoted followers who were seated in the benches with their hands crossed in a praying manner. The moonlight lit the empty podium that was once occupied by a preacher that was long since dead. Candles were soon blown out as the people rose to leave the house of worship. The wanted sign again zipped away, dancing along the stars before it was promptly grabbed out of the air by a rather sturdy hand.

The hand was calloused from years of hard work. The owner of the hand was a type of pig hybrid that adorned a sheriff’s star and a hat that kept the most of the sun out of his eyes. However, in that evening, the only thing that did was obstruct the moonlight from showing the face of the pig. The sheriff looked down at the wanted poster he had so carefully crafted. The hybrid painted on the parchment looked so similar to him that it unnerved him to no end. He was even placed on trial just because him and the fancy hybrid had such similarities. However, the sheriff promised each person in the town that he would kill the hybrid that took the orphan from him.

The orphan had been living with the sheriff for, damn, how long now? Three years before he was kidnapped? The orphan had appeared in the town when he was young. Of course, many of the town residents pitied him, but no one took the young kid in. As seemingly the only one who cared for the citizens of the town, Sheriff Thompsom took the kid in. For the first few days, it seemed very awkward. He didn’t know the orphan that well. He was pretty sure the kid was 6 and had experienced trauma. But, he never pressured the kid into spilling. Instead, he decided to wait for the kid to trust him.

And now he was gone, all because he couldn’t protect his only charge. He couldn’t give two shits for the town and it’s people, hell, he let a cannibal, Crops, out to get fresh air all the time. The orphan never even told him his name. He just always called him kid before naming him J just for simplicity. The day that the bastard pig came in a swiped the money was one he would always remember. The screams of his kid after the hybrid held him at knife point were forever etched into his brain.

_“Sherman!” came the cry of a desperate 9 year old. The kid had tears falling down his face out of complete fear._

_No one was in sight other than the sheriff. The sheriff stood, hand on the gun that was holstered at his side. The man who stood before him had a striking resemblance to him. The man wore a crown with a rather lavish black coat. The coat was adorned with golden buttons and chains. In his arms was Sherman’s kid, his J. The boy was held with a knife at his neck, situated in front of the much larger man in a defensive manner. The man, he later learned the name of, Sir Billiam the Third, had a large arm over the much younger body. Sheriff Sherman could do nothing but watch. If he shot, there was a chance he could hit his kid. The kid was much taller than normal, but that also made him much more of a target._

_The hybrid looked at the sheriff. “Let me leave peacefully, and I promise not to kill the boy.”_

_Sherman looked at the boy, then looking at the criminal. “Let him go.”_

_“Just for you to shoot me? No.”_

_The kid cried out as the knife poked his neck. A bead of blood started to pool at the knife before spilling over and slipping down his neck. Sherman had to keep in an animalistic growl. How he wanted to protect his charge, but he couldn’t move. Instead, he moved his hand from his holster, putting them into the sky. “There.”_

_“Drop your weapon on the ground and kick it to me.”_

_So Sherman did, moving slowly so that the hybrid in front of him did not suspect anything. He was one of the best shots in the whole town, but he doubted his skills. He knelt into the sand, placing the pistol on the ground before standing up. Keeping his eyes on the man in front of him, he kept his hands in the air and then kicked the gun into the middle between them. The hybrid smiled, one of malice and pure evil._

_“Good, now you’re going to let me and the boy here leave, or I will slit his throat.”_

_Sherman said nothing, keeping his eyes on the man. It did not go unnoticed as he clenched his fist and let out a snort of anger. His kid cried, begging his captor to let him go and let him leave peacefully. Sir Billiam only hissed for him to shut up. The knife pushed itself further into the neck of J, making Sherman take a step forward._

_“Ah, ah, ah. One more step and his toast, ya hear? Tell him to behave.”_

_Sherman grunted but looked at his kid, “J, just listen to him. Do what he says, okay? I’ll find you, I promise.”_

Shaking his head, Sherman crumbled the wanted poster into a ball. It had been seven years since his kid had been kidnapped. Within the first few years, they searched far and wide. But, soon they developed other problems with a rival gang of bandits. He had to divert his search for his son to the bandit group. They continued to terrorize them for years. As of recently, the bandits have left them alone, however, that did not let him return to his search. Most of the town now believed it was a lost cause. As much as they wanted to get their money that the hybrid had stolen, they did not care now.

Sherman sighed, entering the saloon. He walked over to the bar, dodging the drunken men and women who were dancing along to an upbeat song. Sitting down on an uneven barstool, he waved the bartender over. The bartender was a tall and slender man who went by the name John. He appeared almost six months ago with a weird sum of money. The money didn’t last long as he opened his saloon. The business was booming, even though the saloon was robbed by the bandits pretty often. 

The bartender was rather submissive, even giving free drinks when pressured. The man’s whole demeanor screamed in familiarity to the sheriff. But, it would never click in the old man’s head. But, in the bartender’s, it clicked. 

He walked over, placing a thirty-two ounce mug filled to the brim with a dark lager onto the bar in front of the man. The bartender had a friendly smile on his face. “Thirty-two Dos Equis?”

The sheriff grumbled, picking up the mug and starting to take a long swallow. As he reached for the mug, he released the ball of paper. The bartender picked it up, unraveling it to see the man who had stolen him so long ago. “Did y’all ever catch him?”

The hybrid set the beer on the bar with a frown. “Never. We had to change our efforts after a year of searching. These bandits appeared and threatened the town. But me? I never gave up. For the town, it was about the money. For me? It’s about my son.”

The bartender smiled, grabbing a rag and drying the glasses that he had finished washing. “Well, I hope that one day you find him.”

Little did the sheriff know, the Bartender that stood in front of him had escaped the clutches of the egg loving Sir Billiam and returned to his father’s side.


	2. John John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He slipped the key out of the slit that controlled his entire business. That night had been especially routy with the number of patrons and the amount of kegs they had gone through. With the sheer amount of customers, the patrons had left a large mess for him to clean. He was the only staff, so leaving the mess for the morning may have been the best idea. However, his mind voted against it. He had, after all, been a butler the majority of his life. The teachings that the egg loving pig had taught him still lingered in his mind. Much like how the blood of the innocents lingered on his hands. 
> 
> The key fell onto the cobbled path with a slight clatter. It broke the peaceful silence, the clatter echoing off the walls surrounding the door. With a shaky breath, John leaned down, grabbing the key and muttering an apology before he could stop himself. Mentalling cursing himself, he shoved the key in his pocket and shook his head. He spun on his heel in a perfect about face. His master had, of course, taught him the way to hold himself to the highest standards. Still, those memories were just that. Memories. He was home, in his hometown. 
> 
> But, it did not feel like home.

Moonlight casted it’s beautiful glow into the once restless town. The celestial beauties of the night twinkled as the last of the evening patrons slipped away into a slumber like no other. The air surrounding the area settled almost like Mother Nature herself was readying herself for bed. Night seemed to last forever in this land as the world dipped into a peaceful slumber. As a typical night, the town was asleep by the third hour of the day. Not even the wind hollered during the witching hour. No one would dare come out at this time, no one but a certain bartender. 

He slipped the key out of the slit that controlled his entire business. That night had been especially routy with the number of patrons and the amount of kegs they had gone through. With the sheer amount of customers, the patrons had left a large mess for him to clean. He was the only staff, so leaving the mess for the morning may have been the best idea. However, his mind voted against it. He had, after all, been a butler the majority of his life. The teachings that the egg loving pig had taught him still lingered in his mind. Much like how the blood of the innocents lingered on his hands. 

The key fell onto the cobbled path with a slight clatter. It broke the peaceful silence, the clatter echoing off the walls surrounding the door. With a shaky breath, John leaned down, grabbing the key and muttering an apology before he could stop himself. Mentalling cursing himself, he shoved the key in his pocket and shook his head. He spun on his heel in a perfect about face. His master had, of course, taught him the way to hold himself to the highest standards. Still, those memories were just that. Memories. He was home, in his hometown. 

But, it did not feel like home.

Shaking the thoughts out of his mind, he started to walk down the path towards a small home near the Church of Prime. He knew the true reason he chose the home so close to the Church. It was the only way to get a sufficient supply of Holy Water with no trouble. The home was located barely five hundred feet from the Church building. That in itself helped with his anxiety. His fears of the Egg reaching his mind once more haunted him. This town, however, was protected by the Church, so the Egg shouldn’t reach him, right? Gosh, he needed to stop those thoughts.

He unlocked his door, pushing the oak door in only to close it with a soft click. Once the door was closed, he slid against the door, holding his head as he began to break the cool composure he always held. Prime, he saw him today. He saw  **him** . The hybrid he once considered his father had such a striking resemblance to the cultist who had such a hold on him. The man had startled the poor bartender. However, no one really paid him enough mind to notice the shocked expression that had covered his face. The expression only lasted a moment, but the clear surprise was evident on his features.

The floor right by the entrance of the home was covered in sand that he had yet to sweep out. The sand dirtied the black slacks he wore, but the simple dust only grounded him. The tears fell from his eyes and onto the void of the pants he wore. The only way he knew that the tears had even hit the pants was the slight discoloration from the sand. ‘ _ Focus. Focus on what you can see _ ,’ his mind told him. And so he did. He looked up from the ground, looking over the small kitchen that laid before him. An iron stove stood behind a small table that held one chair. The counters beside the stove were littered with discarded pots that he had forgotten to put up or forgotten to wash. He couldn’t remember. Turning his head, he looked over at a small bed frame that could barely hold his tall frame. The bed was covered with furs and other blankets needed to keep the desert chill out of his bones. The fabric was dyed red, a maroon red that had no resemblance to the bright red of the Egg. ‘ _ Bed, let’s get to the bed _ ,” his mind decided.

He stood, stumbling to the bed. He kicked off the old black shoes that had been covered with dust from his walk. He peeled off his vest, laying it on the chair that faced the table. With skill and accuracy, the ex-butler unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it to a pile that laid in the corner. A sweat stained undershirt joined the white button up only a few moments later. The man crashed onto the bed, pulling the red blanket up to his chest, but not exactly covering himself. More so, he was cuddling the red. 

Red always comforted his anxiety. Funny how the source of your anxiety could also comfort you. The fleece was matted with dirt and sweat, but the man only snuggled it closer. The ratty thing had been the one gift given to him by the evil master he had. The red used to fuel the bloodlust that he would fear, but now it only comforted his soul. The longing for the Egg grew as he was comforted, but he would swig a glass of Holy Water before he went to open the bar tomorrow. For now, he could only soothe his soul with the red that stole his soul.

But, as he laid there, he thought back to the Sheriff that sat at the bar for far too long. John had no backbone to tell the Sheriff that they had closed thirty minutes ago, so instead he waited for the man to leave on his own time. He found the extra money slipped under one of the glasses. It was a generous amount, but John only assumed it was because the Sheriff felt guilty for taking the seat for so long. Not anything else. Never anything else. Yet, he thought back to what the Sheriff had said before he indulged in his nighttime drinking. 

“My son…” the man whispered softly. “He referred to me as his son...has he not given up on the fact that I died so long ago?”

Leaving that as his final thought, John turned from the idea that he wanted to so desperately hold onto and face the reality he believed in. The manipulative words filled his mind once more. The voice behind them was just how he remembered the rich man’s voice was. The voice was slightly higher pitched with words that screamed both attention and extravagance. The words filled his mind just like how the Egg’s had done so long ago. ‘ _ Remember how he just gave you up just like that? _ ’ the voice returned, ‘ _ Or, how he ordered you to obey me? Obey me, slave! _ ’

Squeezing his eyes shut, the man pushed the voice to the farthest corner of his mind. He couldn’t revert to the manipulation. No matter how true the voice was, he had to forget the teachings. He had to move on. The Egg was no more to him. He may have not destroyed it completely, but the blue fire that had engulfed the manor was enough to satisfy him. He had stood at the top of the steps, the sword dripping with the blood that the Egg lusted so much for. But, at that moment, the Egg screamed in his head. The Egg demanded for help, and ordered John to sacrifice himself. Yet, John resisted that day. He held the flint and steel that he had been able to sneak in the manor from the previous errand run. That flint was coated with soul sand, which was the creator of the blue fire that engulfed the room.

The stench of ash and soot filled his nose and coated his clothes. Though, there was no desire to run. He looked down at his ex-master who he had just stolen the soul from. The man was no more, even though he knew that a descendant of the man was around somewhere. From what he had studied, the Egg tended to stay within the bloodlines. If the child that Sir Billiam had fathered was killed, the Egg would seek him out. That he knew. But, as long as he had the special flint and steel, he was safe.

Unconsciously, John felt for the flint and steel he held under his pillow. He focused on the blue flames, the feeling of rebirth as he stepped from the manor and out of the Egg’s control. He swore that he would destroy the Egg for good. He headed to the closest town that held a Church of Prime. He had forgotten that the town was once his home. But, that was not the frightening part.

He discovered that the Vines that grew on his back were incurable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am coming up with a storyline behind this as we speak. Maybe I will expand on this universe? Idk, I'm just enjoying this idea! John/J has been through some trauma. How will he recover? Will he ever tell Sheriff Sherman? I am an angst writer, but who knows? I may give y'all a gift of kindness!
> 
> What do you think is going to happen? Let me know y'alls theories! 
> 
> \---
> 
> Also, I have a Discord! Consider joining if you want to hang out or to talk about theories. I am always looking for inspiration for oneshots/drabbles. Theories are interesting for my longer books too. I'd love to implement some of them! Visit my Linktree here! https://linktr.ee/Silver0fFire
> 
> This is where I will announce updates as well as my streams. Consider joining if you want to express your ideas and other interesting things! I want to hear y'alls ideas!


	3. NOT AN UPDATE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not an update. Sorry subs...trying to be cool :)

NOTICE:   
  
Hey guys! Sorry for the update, that’s not an update. I do have an announcement. I have entered His Son into the contest on Ranboo’s discord! Pog right? Well, in order to do so, I need to video myself posting and editing this work, hence the odd not an update, update. This is to prove that I am the owner of this piece of writing. I implore you to also write your own entries and try and win too! There is no money involved, just a role and a shout out (1st get’s Discord Nitro for a month). I would love to read y’alls own stories and such BUT DO NOT POST TILL AFTER THE CONTEST. The only reason I am keeping this up is because I have permission from the admins. I also do not want y’alls ideas stolen from you. Keep them in a doc and post later.

Now, the reason why I entered this contest is that I really want to get this story heard. I enjoy talking and writing headcanons and my own theories of Ranboo and so many other CCs. Their stories/acting have inspired me to write my own story that has a slow burn effect but also filled to the brim of lore and foreshadowing. I enjoy being cryptic but also writing creatively. I do hope I win this contest, but I only hope that the admins reading the story do enjoy it. I will still be working on the next chapter and will post before the end of the contest. Next chapter is going to explain a bit more of the background. 

Thank y’all so much for enjoying the story. I can’t wait to see the winner. :) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for supporting me!
> 
> \---
> 
> Follow me on Twitter: @SilvLady
> 
> Linktree: https://linktr.ee/Silver0fFire

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have this marked as complete because I am thinking of adding onto this theory, but let me know how y'all feel about it!


End file.
